The Stranger and the Nightingale
by PipPipCheerio0205
Summary: The Nightingale, so beautiful, so splendid! And the stranger, mysterious, unknown, and never speaks. What mystery lies beneath the mask? (On hiatus for now, working on other stories.)
1. Chapter 1: The Ball Of The Longest Night

Alas, reader! For I have another tale to tell you – a tale that only in your imagination could you ever believe. May it not be as pragmatic as aging, for that tale has already been discussed. No. I will share to you, reader, the most fond tale that resides in my own pendulum of thoughts.

Nighttime, that it was, when our story begins, when the moon's ever-so glorious light graced upon the fields of cattle, shimmered upon the splashing fish obtained within flowing creeks, it is there I take you to an old cottage. A cottage whose age wasn't young, a cottage built upon the highest hill, looking down to the creeks that flowed so. And beside it – listen to me reader – was a mighty Oak, an Oak which leaves were not green, as much as they were yellow.

Do not question why I have told you about this Oak tree, for it will be explained in later time – may not be exposed upon reading this tale, but may be in another tale – but when I do speak about this Oak tree, remember, that I speak of only a fruitless element, for our story does not revolve around this Oak tree. The story I share unto you, reader, is about two girls. Two sisters, if I'm exact.

Open the door to the cottage, reader, unmask the hidden warmth of the cottage's candles, and there, you can see a young lady: hair a crimson red, bright as the fires scorching upon the many candles. Her name, as beautiful as she: Anna. She displayed her elegance by wearing a grand gown, colors twisted and exposed to the very laces of the silk, and truffles that challenged beauty itself! Alas, reader! Not a spectacle was as brilliant or gorgeous as this woman was! However, that was until it was to be seen who drifted down the steps, wearing, and looking, even more astonishing.

Nothing could compare to the second sister's utter beauty, as her hair was more graceful than the pearls around her neck, a solid white, held in a stunning French Braid. The dress she wore, it can barely be described, reader! The sheer glistening of its marvelous design was enough to make Anna herself color a faint scarlet.

And she said with awe dressing over her lips, "Elsa, my sister! What absolute beauty is this?"

The elder sister, whose name is to be known as Elsa, blushed deeply, all the way to the tip of her nose, and answered unto her sister, as she came down from the final step, "It is my beauty! As your beauty is so much as yours! There isn't any need to compare. We are beautiful in our own light."

This is very much true, reader. Beauty is not a contest, as much as a pig is a cow, and we cannot praise something that is only temporary, as beauty is. Because as the clock continues to grow rampant with its ticks and tocks, beauty will fade, and only _you_ will remain.

And Anna answered, as she came to the cottage's door, "Shall we go now? I believe we might be late if we do not hurry."

Where was it that they were going? Oh, dearest! The answer is very simple. Across all the towns and other places, it was eminently well-known that the Great Kingdom of Arrendelle was to be having a Ball! A Ball! you might say. Indeed, reader. This is where our story takes place.

They left their home in haste, called upon the nearest carriage that would fancy them, and arrived to Arrendelle in a little less than an hour. Let it be mentioned, that I myself, reader, have been within the gates of this very Kingdom! So, I can clarify the very details of its wonderful phenomenons.

People, from the smallest child, to the oldest man, were joyous beyond than what their lives had ever been! Dancing had taken much positions within many places, with music of dazzling beats cuddling every street corner, for the music was beyond anything gloomy or depressing. It was a very glorious night, as a crisp gust of nightly air carried with it the carriage of the two sisters.

Anna had sat closest to the carriage's door, venturing looks to the outside world, and shouted with her own rightful glee, as she saw all the wondrous festivities of the night's Ball, "Tonight, oh tonight, dear sister! Surely, tonight will be the greatest thing!"

"I hope, very much, that it will be," said Elsa, whose gaze was upon the funny looking carriage driver, whose nostrils were much too big for his plump little body. And in the farthest distance, she regarded the very castle, with its splendid architecture like a stunning piece of creation, that somehow, man had crafted.

And with her attention so focused on that single thing, Elsa almost didn't acknowledge her sister's spontaneous words: "Maybe we'll meet royalty! Oh sister, what possibilities are there to be had tonight!"

And Elsa said unto her eager sibling, as they transpired over a smooth wooden bridge, onward – and no longer far – to the castle, for the fine creation was then ever-so lucid to both their gazes, "I honestly haven't the clue of what might happen tonight, but I do believe that this will be our greatest day. See there, now, the guards ask not a question, and let our carriage through," and Anna waved to the two men in jeweled armor, as Elsa continued her speech: "I expect there to be the most marvelous food, and maybe, just maybe, there could be the most handsome man."

And Anna answered, "Surely, you are right sister! If I could meet a man, that would be absolutely splendid! I would want him caring, loving – dear, heavens! He would be the sweetest man in the world."

All the way until they arrived to the doorsteps of the castle, did they talk to one another about the endless possibilities of this night. The carriage driver had come around, his plump self looking ever so funny, wearing a dashing black doublet, and he opened the carriage's door. Anna thanked him for his services, as so did Elsa, and he drove off into the night, with only a bow and a courtesy to both women.

There, they stood, gowns and all, at the very doorsteps of the fantastic castle – crafted with only the most sublime wood – and Anna was the one who took the first step, smiling as to show her white teeth and lovely character, saying to her sister, "Let's go, then! I cannot wait to see all the splendid people, and taste their delicious food!"

Elsa was, for the most apparent part, nervous, that her words did not flow easily from her mouth: "I want to go, really I do. But why is that my doubts torment me so? I cannot even begin the journey to the doors!" For such a beauty, it was hard to understand why she would be, in such a way, terrified.

The features that described, as to Anna, upon her sister's face, were of a scared little girl; and they brought her to answer, and to encircle the woman into her bosom with a hug, "There, there, sister. There is nothing to worry about, nothing at all! Why, you are so beautiful, why are you petrified so?"

And Elsa took joy in her sister's warm hug, and when they broke apart, that she rubbed away a single tear, and said, "You are most definitely right! Curse myself for being nervous! Come! Let us go now, Anna." She took her sister by with a caring hand, and they scaled the steps. Elsa's heart was pounding inside her breast, not with fright, but with the greatest joy!


	2. Chapter 2: The Nightingale

As I write these very words, I am constantly reminded of the time I met Sir Marcus Andreas, the man who will properly be introduced in a much later time. However, let it be known, before anything else is said, that on the day of Arrendelle's Masquerade Ball, was the fateful day when the greatest scheme of cold-blooded murder, that had ever been!, was savagely committed.

There were, in the most obvious sense of sight, hundreds of gorgeous women wearing the most fabulous dresses, and dashing men in fancy doublets, within the resplendent walls of the castle, for if I were to say the words: spectacularly colorful, it would be perfectly true. Not a single one danced without a mask of some sorts, for this was a Masquerade Ball, and when Elsa and Anna entered, they found themselves surrounded by mocking birds, panthers, and whatever else might've been at the party.

"Elsa," said Anna, a little nervous, realizing that they were missing the most important piece of clothing: a mask, "oh dear, what are we supposed to do? We've brought not a single mask."

Well, certainly everyone noticed the two maskless girls, for they were such a marvel to look at, and it might be said, a few women were a little jealous, dancing with their men, twirling upon the polished floor of the ballroom. It could've easily been to tell the two sisters to leave, but not so much for the man whose name was, Sophire.

He was rather strange, underneath a white cat mask poked two green eyes, and a smile that was nearly crooked, yes, crooked indeed. His teeth were not as so much white as a witch is beautiful, and he danced his way, swirling, spinning upon his nicely suited shoes, to the two women, and said to them, "My lovely ladies. It seems you come to the party without your masks! I'm sure you knew that this was a Masquerade Ball, did you not?"

Of course not you foolish man! If they had known, wouldn't they been wearing them? He was a man of such rudeness and conceited sentiments, that even Elsa herself felt an almost immediate loathing towards him, saying, "We didn't know that this was a Masquerade. Our deepest apologies, but I'm hoping that you may carry with you two new masks for me and my sister?"

Anna blushed at the very mention of herself, terribly embarrassed, but even more so when Sophire kissed her hand, and said, "And who do I have the pleasure to meet here? My lovely, what is your name?"

"Thank you," she said, still flushed with rosy cheeks, pulling her hand away, "my name is, Anna."

And Sophire answered, with his smile ever so larger, now his dimples were to be shown, "Such a beautiful name for such a beautiful girl. I will not allow two ladies like yourselves to be forced to leave, having only forgotten your masks. Stay here, and I will return with the most pristine masks that I can find for you." He then set off without another word, and both women watched him as he vanished into the crowds of people.

"Such an interesting man he is," said Anna.

"I'm not very fond of him," Elsa admitted, burrowing her gaze deeper through the dancing guests. Sophire'd best hurry with their masks, surely, someone would throw them out if he didn't.

"And why is that? He seems nice enough, and he goes so far out of his way to bring us our masks."

And Elsa said, "I never said I'm not grateful for his services, but that doesn't mean I have to like the man. He seems to me to be very conceited. Might I remind you how he had kissed your hand? He did so without any deference to you."

Anna laughed to those very words, she found no harm in such a gesture, unlike her sister, and replied, "Oh, mercy me! Don't be so silly. I find him very charming, and he is most certainly a very handsome man."

"How do you know that what lies beneath that mask is beauty? What if it's not the man you think?"

And Anna answered, "It doesn't matter what I think of his looks now, my sister. We're here just for the entertainment of ourselves, dancing, and meeting new people. Surely, this is the main reason why we came?"

When they saw that Sophire had returned with their masks, they thanked him, and he kissed both their hands. "I have within my possession two masks of the finest material. They are very special, indeed."

What looked to be in Anna's hands was the tasteful mask of a Robin: it wasn't mere leather and paint, no, the mask was woven consummately with the King's finest threads. And when she snuggled it upon her head, she said, "What wonder! I see the world in a whole new light! Why, if I could be a bird, I would!"

And upon her playful words, Elsa studied her very mask, and she too, was quite fond of its splendid lacing and smooth texture. However, unlike Anna's, one could not so easily tell of what creature it was, and she asked Sophire this very question: "What does this mask, that is ever so pretty, supposed to be?"

The man chuckled, and beneath his white mask, with the very whiskers of a cat fastened upon it, his green eyes fluttered like a peaceful dove, "Why that, my dearest girl, is the mask of a Nightingale!"

Godsend, reader! It is now known that Elsa was the Nightingale of this story!

And only when she answered, was her beauty lost underneath the mask, saying, "Splendid, I say! This mask is so comfortable, it feels like it's not even covering my face! Sir, I thank you so much for your kindness."

Sophire then said, his ego the ever more strengthened, "Please, enjoy yourselves. The food you will find in the dining hall, guesting lounges are around the balcony up stairs. And if you need anything else, you know where to find me." No more than a bow, and a smile to his lips, did the man leave them to mingle with whomever they'd pleased.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Upon the tip of the balcony's mouth, hovering above the very ballroom itself, stood a man wearing a hardened mask of absolute black, only the bottom portion of his jaw and lips could be seen. His clothing was a rich red and black doublet that had only slim pickings of nice truffles at his breasts; and he scoured the very scene of dancing people, with the utmost firmness, for his hands gripped the polished rails, unmoving, just as he.

Not a single soul paid him any mind, for he was not a very threatening man: very slim, and a little shorter than most. None would ever expect the eyes of such a feeble person to hold anything resembling that of power, but this man did so, with eyes that no longer embodied the essence of color, for they were only gray, and if one looked into them deep enough, they'd find immense hatred.

It was he who saw the beauty of Elsa, and it was he who watched the girl from afar, admiring the beauty more lavish than the very mask of the Nightingale she wore. What emotions he began to feel for the woman, emotions that he himself, Sir Marcus Andreas, had never experienced.

For there he saw her within the largest crowd, talking with men who weren't him. How greatly he envied them. No matter how much he wished to cast his gaze away from her, he couldn't, beauty is something that a man just simply cannot obliviate from his mind. And no more a better example than Sir Marcus Andreas himself.

But only when he lost sight of her, did he leave the balcony's edge, contemplating harshly on whether he should search for the lost beauty, or just forget about her. He roamed around pointlessly, like a man broken, and was without a cause, secluding himself like a widow, and whose unconcern was flawless like his refined mask.

Sir Marcus was a dark man, not so the color of his skin, but of his heart and soul. Was it because of his puny frame that made people brush him away like nothing but a nuisance? Or was it because the man never spoke to anyone? For a heart as black as his, there wasn't any real truth. In fact, no one had ever seen him without his mask. And no anomaly ever went without question, but as far as Marcus was concerned, he was never questioned.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

When Elsa's socializing demeanor had been satisfied, the Nightingale found a nicely cushioned chair upon the outer-skirts of the dancing and crowds. There, she rested herself, exhaling a vigorous breath of alleviation, and asked for a drink to one of the waiters. She was given the reddest wine she'd ever seen, and highly enjoyed the sweet fluid glazing smoothly down her slender throat, returning the glass unto the waiter's tray, saying a sincere, "Thank you," and saw a man coming her way.

The man who she saw, approaching her from an angle, was not Sir Marcus Andreas. No. For Sir Marcus would never speak to a woman such as she, fearing the impending embarrassment of his foolish tongue. It is to be said, that the man who arrived to her, the man whose broad frame stood proud and very much so, dignified, whose face could not be seen underneath the bright mask of a Swan, a mask as gracious and stunning as he, and who wore the vivid colors of a golden doublet, that I wholly say this man's name was, Sir Solomon Heirs.

And with the dubious honor of such a splendid occasion when meeting the delightful woman, Solomon bowed, speaking so smoothly, that Elsa felt a shiver trowel her spin: "I presume that you haven't the escort, fair maiden. Would you mind if I seat myself beside you?"

A million times yes, Sir! was her thoughts, looking into the man's gloriously shaded blue eyes, but Elsa kept herself modest enough to say: "I don't mind in the least. I'd like to think you've come in good company?"

And Solomon answered, taking his seat beside the maiden, "Why, yes, of course, dearest Nightingale. Like the songs of the birds, I'm singing these words from my lips only to be kind."

More than kind he was! In Elsa's mind, he was a wonderful man! Even though, she could not see his face behind such a mask, she felt that his beauty would be inconceivably so. And she said unto him, "Surely, you are a beautiful man, Sir! I may not be able to see behind your mask, but your voice is so sweet, and like honey, that it must be so!"

Solomon laughed, finding great comfort in such innocent compliments, that he replied, "And surely, you are beautiful behind your mask, Nightingale, as your dress is marvelous! Even the Queen herself would envy you!"

"Let's hope then, that the Queen doesn't have me killed for such a crime as beauty!" she joked, and they both exhausted laughter to one another.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Whenever I speak about the man, whose name we shall call Marcus from henceforth, remember that I admit, in solemn truth, that he was indeed despicable. Not so much that he was naturally evil, for one is not born evil, but instead, through the years, living a shameless life, Marcus grew very much acquainted with his own wickedness.

For let it be known, that he, the man of true turpitude, stalked the young maiden, as she spoke with Solomon. Like a shadow in the night, he was camouflaged within the crowd's teemed grasp, looking lustfully upon the woman's breast, for he was an obscene man. He watched them share unheard jokes, and when he witnessed such captivating laughter from the woman, his enticement developed into pure bliss, begging for the sweetest contingence that only she could offer him.

_What imposing beauty that mocks me so!_ he thought, swearing under his breath. _Fair maiden, oh, lovely girl, won't you be mine? Just to touch you, that is all ask for! Curse my own lust, but I cannot resist! Why! Oh, why! _Such madness that plagued his thoughts! Marcus knew not what to do! He liberated himself swiftly from the ballroom, searching for a place of secluded sanctuary, that for a time, he could be alone, and left to think about his horrid thoughts.

The guest lounges he came to realize. Of course! Marcus ascended the stairs, saying only muttered pardons as he bumped into people, who he wished not to be associated with other than by the faintest hellos. He had mustn't squander from his path, having not the time for frivolous disquisitions, and eventually arriving inside a room of only a few patrons.

It was a lesser room than that of the dining hall or ballroom, for it only had the fresh carpet, its painted walls burning a bright yellow, the smell of seasonal scents of the lavender furniture nestled delightfully by the roasting fireplaces, and what was the luminous chandeliers which resonated lights of reddish tints.

It was here that Marcus found himself sitting upon one of the chairs, his mind devoured by the itches of desire, the feelings that he himself could not overcome. _What tribulation she has caused me! _he thought. _Surely, I will go mad before this night is over, if not sooner! _Warm sweat stung his brow, and the apprehension of its cursed sensation, that he could not itch it beneath his damned mask! _I grow wearisome of my suffering, _he thought. _And by that fair maiden's hand, my plan of treason will follow through tonight! And after, she will be mine. _

A plan of treason it surely was, a plan that only the most corrupt man could commit. Murder! That dreadful man, Marcus, was to be the one perpetrated for murder! To which I say – even my blood boils writing this – that Sir Marcus was a bastardly devil! He knew not of his own covetousness for his immoral torts! May the sins of his wrong doings return amongst him in the eyes of God!


End file.
